Endings Earned
by badboyaccountant
Summary: After being kicked out of the house and forced to live with his Uncle Iroh in Basington, Zuko just wants an A to make his abusive father proud of him again. When he almost kills three students in the process, he's enrolled in Ms. Kyoshi's "Supplemental Art Class for Overly Emotional Freaks and Probable Orphans" and finds out he's basically both. High School AU
1. Candles

As I walked out from the main building of Nation Academy, I made two life changing realizations.

1. It was colder now than this morning. I could use a jacket.

2. My life was completely over.

I tightened my grip on the already opened envelope in my hand. The posh wax seal was cracked to a crumble. This is how teenagers lose their hair early. Stress is a proven killer.

A group of kids sat under the tree a few feet away, sharing their reports and laughing together. They were probably talking about the football game tonight I couldn't care less about. Half had their jerseys on like they'd be tackled any minute.

What did I do to deserve this? There's nothing that separates me from them. I will never have their carefree life, their grades, or their understanding parents, and it's not my fault. I hate them and I envy them.

The stone bench beneath me was wet, and the storm clouds threatened even more rain. That would be the icing on this shit cake.

"How'd you do, Zuzu?" she taunted from behind.

Breathe deep, I reminded myself. Be civil.

"Not as good as you," I answered through gritted teeth.

"I already figured that," she sat next to me on the bench and pretended to inspect her nails. "Did you get a B again? I called it," Azula laughed lightly.

"I don't think you realize what he does when this happens."

"He glares at you for weeks, he gives me presents. What am I missing?"

"You don't understand. It's more than that," I looked away from her.

"Oh yeah, it hurts your feelings. Boo hoo, Zuko," she grabbed her backpack and started walking away from me.

"You don't understand," I muttered to myself.

I grabbed my backpack and walked home after Azula. Leaves crunched under my feet. Every noise was like a siren. Is something wrong with my hearing? Is something wrong with me?

The walk back home was always short, but today it felt like a prolonged blink. I had three hours before facing dad. I could runaway from home and join the circus. It was feasable.

Our house was the biggest on the street by an entire story. It was embarrassing almost to look at the cottage next door and then at our mansion. We have more things, but we're not better people. The door was slightly ajar, one of Azula's bad habits.

My room was at the top of both flights of stairs, with red walls and a spinet piano in the corner. My bed was twice as big as I needed, a leftover of Mom's parenting.

"He needs a big bed because he tosses and turns a lot. Do you want your son to fall off in the middle of the night?"

"Well, one day he might want to learn piano, honey. We should get him a piano. Do you want your son to be uncultured?"

Where would I be if she was still here? Probably not this upset, I'd wager. She wouldn't let Dad do this to me.

I laid back on my bed and closed my eyes. My head pounded. It felt like a hammer behind each eyeball ramming against my skull.

I took off my sweater and let my ponytail down. A few strands came down with it. I'm going bald now.

Sleep wouldn't come. I couldn't fake sickness and lay in bed past dinner. I had to do something. There were music sheets in the corner I could study, books unread on the floor, even an essay or two I could get a start on for the weekend. Nothing would suffice. I couldn't move and I couldn't stay still.

I decided to lay there and try my best to force sleep to come. It didn't.

6:00. Time for dinner, the same as every night. The time for sitting in awkward silence and avoiding eye contact with father.

With my sweater back on and hair retied, I walked down the flights of steps and into the dining room. Azula and Dad had started eating without me.

He didn't notice me come in at all. A stack of papers were scattered in front of them. He read as he ate his chicken and rice.

"Father," Azula said with a smile.

"Yes?" he looked up from the meat he was cutting.

"We recieved our report cards today."

"Splendid," he smiled at her, "I assume your grades were record setting."

She grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "My average was over 100."

"You make me so proud. Every teacher tells me, even my associates tell me, you are a golden child."

"I only wish to become better," she mocked reverance.

"If you become any better, they'll build you a temple."

The two laughed happily. Azula's cheeks were red when she was done.

"And how did Zuko do?" he asked in a dramatically more brusque tone.

My heart beat was in my throat. I swallowed my bite of chicken. This was it. "Father, I-,"

"Tell me, please," he interrupted. All signs of happiness and pride had vanished.

"It's unfair to-,"

"Now," his fist hit the table.

"C," I blurted. "It was a C."

"Azula, my dear, to your room please," he stared forward and did not move.

She smiled lightly and placed her cloth napkin on the table. Her little feet made the steps creak.

Father grabbed his napkin and wiped his lips.

"Do you know why I love candles so much?" He asked, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

"No, father." Where's he going with this?

"Candles, in the darkness, will always help you see. In the light, they don't do much, but should the light go out, a candle will light the path to understanding."

He sounds even crazier than Uncle.

"This is the third time your grades have disappointed me. I am ashamed of you."

"Mom wasn't," I whispered.

Father clenched his jaw. Regret set in immediately.

"Will this help you see?" he stood from his chair and grabbed the nearest candlestick.

He brought the candle in front of my face until the heat flushed my cheeks.

"Father, please stop," I looked at him through the flame.

"I will stop when you can see," he snapped. "All I have given you, all you will inherit, and you persist to disgrace me with your stupidity. How can I pass what I have earned to an ungrateful idiot?"

"Dad, please stop!" I pleaded. I fought to keep the tears from streaming down my face.

"Don't you dare call me that," his eyes narrowed.

He took the candlestick and shoved the flame against my left eye, holding my head down to the chair.

The scream I made was inhuman. The agony was unbareable.

"CAN YOU SEE NOW? CAN YOU SEE?"

I pushed the candle away and felt him tip my chair back. My head hit the ground with a crack.

Everything went black.

"He's wak-... gettin- now."

"Get- pain -ller..."

"Poor thing."

I felt a big whoosh of heat going through my body from my wrist. I opened my eyes to see a man in bright blue scrubs injecting something into my hand.

"He's fully awake now," he said to someone behind him.

"Hello? Mr. Zuko?" a kind sounding voice asked.

"What?" I answered, barely registering my surroundings.

"You have just came out of surgery, and I'm glad to say you've done just fine."

"Surgery?" I looked ahead at the woman in a white coat standing at the foot of my bed. The room was stark white. Hospital. It set in. Dad sent me to the hospital.

"For your eye. You went with your friends to the bonfire?" she nodded at me.

"What?" I never go to those stupid football parties.

"The bonfire. Your dad dropped you off here yesterday afternoon. He said you had an accident at the football team's bonfire."

"Right," I answered. That was his cover story. It was well thought out. Those kids drink too much on Fridays to be good witnesses.

"The good news is, we saved 90% of your tissue. You shouldn't have any problems seeing, and everything will be operational," she smiled brightly.

"What's the bad news?" I asked her skeptically.

She chewed her lip, "Well, you're quite scarred. Don't worry, you're still a very handsome boy."

Oh god, what did I do? Why did I let this happen?

"Where's a mirror?" I felt the heat rise in my chest.

"I don't recommend-," she put her hands in front of her.

I jumped out of the bed and yanked out the IV cord. I pushed the nurse in blue scrubs aside gently and opened the door to the bathroom.

A big, puffy red scar covered my entire left eye. Even my ear was mangled.

It's ruined. Everything's ruined. I am absolutely hideous. How will father find pride in me now?

"It will heal more. The bumps will smooth, the lines of the stitches will become less visible. You can wear a patch over it if you like."

"Will it be here forever?" I looked away from my reflection.

"I'm very sorry," she put a hand on my shoulder.

I hung my head and felt on the verge of screaming. The surgeon patted my back gently. She was kind, and I knew that a part of me appreciated that.

"I need a phone," I said finally.

"Of course. He'll take you," she gestured to the nurse.

He smiled at me sympathetically and led me to the desk outside my room. I thanked him quietly and dialed.

"Hello?

"Azula? Where's Dad?" I asked frantically.

"He doesn't want to talk to you," she sighed.

"Ask him how I get home from the hospital then."

"You're in the hospital?" she sounded surprised.

"Did he not tell you what happened?" Anger started to rise in my chest.

"He says that Uncle will pick you up when you're ready. You're gonna live with him now."

"What?" This is a mistake. She's lying again.

"Dad doesn't want to see you. I was right."

I hung up the phone and sat down slowly. He's shut me out. It's even worse than I imagined.

I dialed a second number and slowly raised the reciever to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Uncle Iroh?" I asked nervously.

"Is that you Zuko? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Did Father talk to you?"

"He did. He wants you to come live with me, have you heard?"

"I thought Azula was lying," I winced, digging my fingers into my ponytail.

"She usually is," he laughed. "When do you want me to pick you up?"

"How soon can you get here?"

"Well, you know it's a long long way to Ba-,"

"Yeah, I know," I cut off his singing, "Will three hours work?"

"Yes, it will. I'll stop by your Father's house to collect your things."

"Thank you," I looked at the white tiled floor.

"See you in a bit," he added happily.

I hung up the phone. He was happy about this. He wanted me to come live with him. He was blind.

I looked around for the nurse and found him in a waiting room watching TV.

"How do I discharge myself?" I asked confidently.

He rolled his eyes. "Come with me."

I followed him down the hall and dodged bodies on gurneys and doctors absorbed in folders. The elevator ride was awkward as hell, but it paled in comparison to the looks he gave me. I soon learned that nurses didn't really like it when patients discharged themselves.

"This form basically says that if you die after you leave here you can't sue us."

"But how would I sue you if I died?"

"Don't be a smartass. Just sign the paper."

I signed that paper, and four more. My hand started to cramp. The nurse told me to wait and walked down the hallway again.

I avoided eye contact with the receptionist. She had looked at me once and gasped after.

"Here's everything you came in with," the nurse handed me a lump of clothes. "Good luck with your eye."

"Thanks," I muttered, walking to the bathroom to change out of the ugly gown.

I sat in the waiting room for two hours watching people pass through. Some were crying, but most just sat there staring into space. Everyone looked at me one time, and then turned so they wouldn't see the horror again.

Eventually, a white VW Bug rolled up into the first parking space. A little memory came back to me.

"Mom, why does Uncle Iroh have a girl car?"

"Azula, please, cars don't have genders. If Iroh would like to drive that car there's nothing stopping him."

"Hello, niece and nephew! Do you like my girly car?"

He walked out and looked around the front of the building for me. It was a funny sight, him looking so confused.

He came inside and smiled the moment he saw me. He outstretched his arms and hugged me, giving me no say in the matter.

"Uncle," I acknowledged quietly.

"Oh, Zuko, you've grown so! I've grown too, around the middle," he laughed.

I couldn't find it in me to smile. He was funny, and I wanted to laugh, but I knew that if I started feeling any emotion at all it would turn to sadness. "I missed you," I said honestly.

He looked pleased. "I hoped so. Come get in the car. We've got a long drive."

I walked after him and wondered when he'd gotten so short, or when I'd gotten so tall. The passenger seat was adjusted up too far. My knees were planted into the dash.

Iroh laughed at me, "The adjustment is on the side."

The seat slid back until it hit my suitcase in the backseat. "Thank you for getting my stuff."

"Oh, stop your thanking. You are my nephew and I owe it to you."

"For what?"

"For being alive."

The car went silent. I looked away to hide my embarrassment. Compliments just don't work well with me.

I touched my eye barely and winced at the pain. It was lumpy and warm to the touch. I should have stayed. I can't even sue them if my eye kills me now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Uncle asked quietly.

"No," I replied. He already knew, he had to have known.

I folded my hands and leaned my head against the window. Uncle hummed softly and tapped his hands against the wheel. I closed my eyes to block him out.

"Wakey wakey, we're here."

I pulled my head off the windowsill and wiped the drool off my chin. The little house we'd parked at was small, but well maintained. An herb garden lined the walls of the house and looked to loop into the backyard.

Uncle had already stepped out of the car and pulled bags out of the trunk. He threw me the key to the house. I barely caught it. Depth perception was weird with one eye swollen.

The house was surprisingly clean. There were an abundance of house plants, one on every table. The kitchen was a sight to behold.

"Uncle, why do you have two refrigerators?" I asked as he walked in.

"The big one is for cheese," he sat my suitcase on the floor.

I went back outside to get the rest of my things and found there was hardly anything packed.

"How much of my stuff did you bring, Uncle?"

"Everything I found. You don't have a lot. I know monks who would be jealous."

The bags were few but heavy. I set them down in the entryway and looked around the room for Uncle.

"Put the kettle on!" he yelled from the room over.

Cooking never set in for me. There was always a maid around to cook our food and clean after us. I fiddled with the stove knobs until the flame set. I filled the kettle and set it carefully.

The fire was startling. Horrifying, almost. I felt my eye twitch involuntarily looking at it.

I looked at my reflection in the smooth black plastic of the microwave. The eye was still red, still swollen. Everyone will ask, what will I say? Even Uncle had looked at it a second too long.

It'll never happen again, I reminded himself. I can prove myself here. I'll find a way to make it back.

"Your room is upstairs and to the right," Uncle said while grabbing mugs from the cabinet. "You still like chamomile?"

"I don't remember." It had been forever. Mom liked to brew it. Tea always tasted the same anyway.

"Chamomile calms the nerves, which I think could help you a good bit right now."

"I'm not nervous," I lied.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You look like your mother, but you lie like your father."

"It's just unfamiliar. It's normal," I said defensively.

"Tomorrow you will go to school, tomorrow you will unpack everything you brought, and tomorrow I will take you around to see the city. But for now, we drink tea," Iroh smiled.


	2. Paper

I didn't sleep longer than a hour. My head was still pounding, the day ahead of me was horrifying, and Uncle's roast duck did not sit well with my stomach.

The clock in the corner of the room was fast approaching 6:30, the time Iroh repeatedly told me to wake up at. I sat up and stared out the window at a little bird on the windowsill. It had to have been leaving soon, there was already frost on the ground.

A pan clanged against the stove downstairs. He was already awake. He was singing something too, like always. How can he always be so happy?

"Good morning, Zuko. I made you eggs and toast, and you need an orange as well, unless you prefer apples. Just be sure to eat a lot. Breakfast is most important," Uncle rambled on.

I rubbed my eye without thinking and immediately stopped. It was still warm and tender. It was never going to heal. I would always be scarred.

"Where's my suitcase?" I asked between pieces of toast.

"Somewhere in the house maybe," he answered from the kitchen.

"Very helpful," I mumbled, taking the toast with me and heading back upstairs to find it.

"You better hurry!" Uncle yelled from downstairs.

I pulled on the clothes I was wearing yesterday and smoothed out the wrinkles. It would be fine. No one was going to notice.

"What's taking you so long? Are you primping for the ladies? I can help!"

I ran downstairs and frantically dumped the books from my backpack and tried to save anything useful. Pencils, blank paper, erasers, calculator. I let it sit in a pile on the table. Panic was setting in slowly. Nothing was where I needed it and everything was terrible.

"Get in the car or you'll be late!" Iroh yelled from the porch. My lungs heaved once and I zipped my bag. Ready to face the day.

I rode shotgun for a full mile and a half to Basington High School. It was a big facility, three stories high with a slightly dilapidated roof. There was a run down playground beside, along with a small patch of half head trees.

"How is your neighborhood's school so ugly?"

"A lot of kids commute from the outer part of the city. They don't prioritize the upkeep." Groups of students passed our car carrying books and backpacks.

I immediately regretted my choice of clothes. They ran around with T-shirts and jeans that fit too tight. Half were absorbed in hoodies.

I looked down self consciously at my grey sweater and rich boy khakis. I was an immediate outsider.

They didn't look like me either. Their skin was darker and most had lighter brown hair. I didn't fit here.

"Stop being so self conscious," Uncle rolled his eyes. "You're dressed fine."

"I wasn't-,"

"Yes you were. Go on and get started," he shooed me out of the car.

"I can walk home afterwards, I remember the way we came."

He laughed. "2:30. I'll be here."

I shut his door and pulled on my backpack.

They looked. I felt every eye on me and saw none. They were pointing and exchanging whispers. They had to be.

"Look at his eye," I thought I heard a voice from behind me.

I turned around, but no one was looking at me at all. Don't freak out. Stay calm. Be civil.

A simple "Head to the office first" was the only direction Uncle gave me.

I looked around the main entrance for something, anything. There was corridor upon corridor. It was like being eaten alive. I started to panic, but remembered the words again.

Stay calm. Be civil.

"Are you lost?"

I turned around to an old man with a short white beard. "Yes," I answered quickly. My heartbeat was steady in my throat.

"I assume you're headed to the office?" he looked at me knowingly.

"Yes."

He smiled gently. "It's in front of the third story staircase."

"Thank you," I nodded and moved immediately to the nearest stairway.

I climbed the steps twice, dodging students and teachers carrying stacks of papers. I was panting when I was through. Who the hell puts the office on the third story?

I walked up to the front desk and the woman there looked above her half frame glasses. "Can I help you?" she sounded irritated.

"New student," I said quickly.

She turned to the computer. "Name?"

"Zuko Lee."

She clicked the mouse and stood up to get something from the copier. It was a little slip of paper. "Here's your schedule. How's your Uncle?" She asked nonchalantly.

"Fine, great, I mean."

She looked displeased. "Your first class is the last room on the right," she pointed down the hall.

"Thank you," I nodded.

She grunted.

The schedule read Chemistry, one of the few I wasn't dreading. There isn't much reading, just a lot of math and lab instructions. It should be fine. A nice way to start a new day.

I pulled open the door and the room was almost empty.

It was the old man from downstairs. He made it up the stairs surprisingly fast. "You found your way?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes," I answered quickly, too embarrassed to think normally or rationally or really even consider what I sounded like.

"Sit next to Jin. She's very bright," he pointed to a girl at a middle table scrawling problems in her notebook.

"Can I sit here?" I asked with a cough.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Of course!"

Jin turned out to be the single most talkative person I'd ever met. "So where are you from? Do you have family here? Do I know them? What school did you go to? Was it different? Does everyone there have ponytails?"

I was thrilled when the room filled with students and the teacher started to lecture. The plaque on his desk read Mr. Roku.

He started by making a drawing of four beakers arranged to represent a reaction.

"Who can tell me what I did wrong?"

Jim raised her hand to the sky.

Mr. Roku looked around the room for other hands and then smiled at Jin. "Who would have guessed you would raise your hand?"

The class laughed lightly. Jin blushed. "Sorry. You have it labeled as an exothermic reaction, but according to solubility rule number 1, the Sodium Nitrate is aqueous, so in actuality there could be no reaction if both of the products can be dissolved and there's no formation of a solid to drive the reaction. Also you forgot to make a legend," she shrunk in her seat, obviously embarrassed.

I was astonished. She was beyond bright, and beyond hyperactive.

"Anyone else?"

The class laughed again.

"She's right for the first time," he said sarcastically.

He assigned us book problems that proved pretty easy for me. Nation Academy was weeks ahead of this curriculum. It was a nice easy review.

The bell rang and Jin gathered her books in record time and almost flew out the door. "Nice to meet you!" she said without even looking up at me.

I stood a little perplexed as to what I thought of her. My next class was both flights of steps down. The stairways were treacherous and full of students talking and running and moving too slow.

I opened the door to the history room and almost had to cover my ears. The students were loud and obnoxious.

"New student?" The teacher was a middle aged woman with dark pinned hair and slightly drooping eyes.

"Yes," I answered, still holding onto the straps of my backpack.

"Let me see your schedule."

I pulled the slip out of my pocket and handed it to her. I scanned the classroom and found that no one had even seen me yet. They were completely absorbed in their conversations.

"I'm Mrs. Wu, and I have a feeling you will enjoy this class. Sit in that backseat, please," she emphasized the word feeling in an odd and uncomfortable way, like she'd been having premonitions or something weird like that.

I took the seat, almost right next to her desk, behind a tiny girl with shaggy black hair and a larger than normal textbook.

"Please take out your textbooks and read, not skim, chapter 11. When you are done I'd like you to answer questions 1-4 at the end."

My palms got sweaty. I was dreading this. The chapter was forty pages long and full of convoluted words that seemed to change every time I looked at them.

I skimmed the first paragraphs and realized we had been through this at the academy. I was safe, for now. The class was a couple weeks behind as well, if our textbooks were parallel. The questions weren't that bad, so I pretended to read to avoid drawing the teacher's attention.

Eventually, she asked for the questions and the class started fidgeting. It must be over soon. Everyone was packing up papers and throwing away trash.

An irritating bell rang over the intercom. Judging by how quickly everyone jumped up to leave, I figured it was signaling lunch.

The girl in front of me didn't get up at all.

"Did you bring your lunch, Toph?" Mrs. Wu asked the girl in front of me.

"Yeah," she sighed and reached under her desk for her bag. It was out of her reach, and she wasn't coming close to grabbing it.

I stooped down to pick the bag up and set it down on her desk. She looked up at me. Her eyes were odd, glassy almost. It wasn't even like she could see me.

I looked again at her textbook and it hit me like a pile of bricks. It was in Braille.

"Thanks," she mumbled and turned her head.

"Yeah," I left the room quickly, feeling completely embarrassed.

She was blind and in a regular class. There weren't disabled students at Nation Academy. If you needed help, you didn't get in. Of course, there were always other reasons they'd cite, like a grade they made in elementary school, or a made up story about a fugitive family member. We never questioned them, it was in our interest, they told us.

The lunchroom was huge and full of wandering students. I dodged their eyes and focused on looking confident and not lonely.

I found an unoccupied table in the corner and sat down there. Intuition told me that Uncle packed me a lunch somewhere in my bag.

In the front pouch, a little note card read, "Remember to hydrate". A closed lid cup of green tea and a container of tuna salad and crackers sat at the very bottom of the pocket.. I smirked and twisted off the lid. It smelled awful, but I appreciated how thoughtful Uncle was.

Sitting alone was just embarrassing. Kids would pass and stare at me and I wasn't sure what to look at or pretend to do. Nothing felt completely right here.

The bell finally rang and sent me to the second floor library for an hour of study hall. Kids were throwing paper airplanes and wads of homework at each other.

I stood up from my table and forced myself to find a book to read. I picked up a thin paperback and quickly realized it was a kids book. Against my better judgement, I took it back to my seat hidden under my sweater.

I pulled it out and started to read with my lips. The section of the library was empty, I was safe.

"Thrilling literature you've got there."

I looked up and met eyes with a boy whose eyebrows reached his hairline. He had a toothpick in his mouth like he was in an old western movie.

"I think I read that one in second grade," the boy behind him said. His hair was almost a bowl cut and his face was almost rosy looking.

I didn't say anything. Stay calm. Be civil.

"Are you mute or something? What's your name?"

I only stared at him.

"Hey, let's go put paper clips in the librarian's coffee," the bowl cut one suggested.

"I don't want to," the tooth picked one replied, staring at me intently.

"Come on, Jet, you're making it weird."

He turned finally with a smirk. I sighed in relief and started reading again. The text was pretty simple and the illustrations helped. I had no library card yet, so I shoved it in my bag when the bell rang.

Math had always been my favorite subject by far. I qualified for the advanced class at this school, which was full of kids dressed slightly more like me. They were more perceptive of me than the others as well. More of them stared at my eye.

Jin was sitting in the front row and didn't notice me. I was relieved, and slightly disappointed. She was irritating, but kind. Kindness wasn't something I denied myself when it was finally available. I took my seat, yet again in the back.

"You're in my seat."

I looked up and saw a rough looking boy in green hulking over my seat. He looked angry, most likely not just at me. I begrudgingly picked up my bag and moved to the seat over.

The teacher was eccentric. His plaque said professor, and a framed commendation read Basington University. He must've been fired, I thought.

He gave us busy work, and a little assignment to complete tonight. After the bell rang, I waited to make sure Jin was gone before I left the room. I'd decided I could wait for chemistry to answer all of her questions.

Reading. The class I'd been dreading. Reading was always impossible for me. Everything was terrible and nothing was worthwhile when I read.

A girl sat behind me drawing something fervently. She looked up barely, and immediately back down.

I pulled out my books and got my paper ready. This class will not bring me down, I told myself.

"Hey, it's The Little Prince!"

My heart dropped. I didn't look at them. The not responding worked fine last time. Just give them a cold hard glare and there will be nothing to work with.

"Jet, it's the kid from the library."

"Look at that dumbass ponytail," they snickered.

"Why are you dressed like that? Are you from some rich kid school?"

My hand clenched involuntarily.

"Jet, stop," the girl behind me muttered.

"Shut up, Katara," he retorted. "Don't get me started on your weird hair beads."

I heard her sigh and click her tongue.

"Where'd you think he got that scar?"

"Probably fell climbing out of his daddy's Ferrari."

"No, I bet he forgot his sunscreen to keep him all white."

There was a heat in my chest and it horrified me.

"Shut up," I said slowly.

They feigned surprise. "He talks! Look at that there."

"Shut up," I said again, even slower this time.

"Look at this," the little one stood up and started playing with my ponytail.

I turned around flew my fist into his teeth. He moved to punch back, but I grabbed his arm the second before.

His friend with the hat down to his eyes screamed and punched my stomach. I fell back and got the taste of tuna in my mouth. I was vaguely aware of the girl behind me turning her desk over jumping back. Her leg looked caught.

With a knee to the groin, the boy with the bowl cut was on the ground screaming. I kicked hat boy in the stomach, sending him flying against a desk. His head hit the wall with a crack. He hit the floor doubled over.

The last boy with the bad eyebrows and toothpick looked horrified.

I grabbed him by the throat and pulled him to the floor. He gurgled and spat at me. Both of my hands clenched against his neck.

Vaguely, I could feel hands pulling me backward. I let go of the boy and felt myself being taken away.

Sound came back. There was screaming, a tooth on the floor. Someone was puking.

I was sitting in the office by the time the headache left and I could register what was happening.

"Principal's Office" the door read. I'd never been to the principal at the Academy. I'd barely even been reprimanded.

They made me wait a while, probably to try and scare me.

Finally the principal, a tall man with and ugly beard came in. "Zuko," he said, lifting up a paper on his clipboard. "Looks like you haven't had the best first day."

I stared forward with my arms crossed.

"You've been relocated to your Uncle's house, your grades are average, lower than normal in reading," he looked up at me. "Must have been quite a fight to get a shiner like that," he pointed to my eye.

I only glared.

"Usually, in cases like this, where the child has been relocated, we see some anger problems. They don't usually get in fights first thing, mind you, but your situation isn't atypical. I'm going to enroll you in our Supplemental Art class. I think you'll relate to the kids in there."

He had that stupid looking hair that poofs up in the middle, something he probably copied from a kid in the hallway. His shirt was half untucked and there was a mustard stain on his chest.

"Why are you giving me an art class?"

"Technically it's a therapy class. After a major infraction, you qualify. The class is during study hall on Wednesdays."

He handed me the slip of paper with the room number. "I expect you to attend this week. For now, you're suspended."

"Suspended?"

"You choked a student," he laughed. "How do I let that slip?"

"He provoked me," I gritted my teeth.

"All three of your victims say different."

"Did you even ask anyone else? Like the teacher?"

"You're obviously riled up. I've already called your Uncle. He's on his way."

I sat there in silence. He'll be disappointed. He'll tell dad.

It took him no time at all to get there. Uncle was a fast driver, coupled with how close his house was.

"Principal Zhao, how have you been?" Uncle asked in a surprisingly passive aggressive voice.

"Very well. Worse when your nephew came in today," he smiled politely.

"I apologize for him. He has been having a rough few days."

"Well, we can make excuses for our children all we want, but some of them are just rotten," he shrugged his shoulders. "It runs in the Lee family doesn't it?"

Uncle's smile faded. "Go sit in the car, please, Zuko." He handed me the keys.

I snatched them and almost ran out of the front door. Uncle parked in the same place. I sat down in the passenger seat and stayed completely silent.

"You could have waited a little while to have your first fight, couldn't you?" Uncle said once completely situated in the car.

"They wouldn't shut up about my eye."

"You have to learn to not let anything get to you. They used to make fun of my hair in the Academy, but I would just remember, the ladies still love me. It doesn't matter unless you let it."

"You don't look like a freak."

He had no reply. He sighed deep and waited a minute.

"Are you hurt?"

"I got hit in the stomach pretty bad."

"I brought you more chamomile," he picked up the thermos in the cup holder.

I took it from him and drank slowly. "Thanks."

"I thought we could go out tomorrow, with you being home all day."

"Okay," I mumbled.

"You could use a little flush from school stresses," he tapped the steering wheel.

"What did you talk about with Zhao?"

"We didn't talk. I punched him in the face."

I gasped involuntarily. "You hit the principal?!"

He looked ashamed. "I have known Zhao for many years. He insulted my son and my nephew. I didn't hit him hard at least. Just enough to shock him."

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"The hypocrisy of punishing you for your temper now is not lost on me."

We got out of the car and stood on the front porch while he looked for the front door key.

"Tea?"

"You just made me some."

Iroh filled the kettle and set it on the burner. "You need more."

I set my bag down on the floor and took my shoes off.

"Sooo, other than your fight, how was school?"

"Fine," I sat down at the kitchen bar.

"Did you meet anyone interesting?"

"No."

Iroh sighed and set down the box of tea. "I love your father. He is my brother, and I am bound to love him. I would never mean to speak against him."

"And?" I swallowed.

"I hate that he has done this to you."

I rolled my eyes, "You don't know anything."

"I had a son too, and I never would have hurt him. Ever."

"I know, bring up your son again. That always works!"

I stormed up to my room and slammed the door. I fell on the bed with my clothes still on. Comfort wasn't achievable anyway.

I laid there for hours, just watching the clock.

"Come out, Zuko. You have to eat."

I stood up, ignoring my headache, and opened the door. Guilt washed over me.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Come have some pork."

He'd made ginger pork, my favorite. I ate two plates full and listened to Uncle's stories.

"Tell me about your teachers."

"There's this old guy with an ugly beard, not like your beard. He teaches chemistry. And my history teacher is a middle aged lady that acted like she had a vision I'd be in class today. My trig teacher used to teach at the college, and I don't think I even met my reading teacher," I rambled on. He was listening intently and nodding at times.

"How do you know the secretary?"

"Ohh, well, that's not the best story to tell," he scratched his chin nervously.

We watched TV until late in the night. I stayed on the couch after Uncle went to bed.

My hand kept wandering to my burned eye, feeling the lumps, the tender spots, and the smooth skin where my eyebrow used to be.

I'll get through this, I told myself. I still have time to heal.

~

AN

Apologies for making this story so sad and angsty so far. Such are the drawbacks of writing about poor little Zuko. Next chapter will be a POV switch:)


	3. Grease

I woke up early to the sound of snoring across the room. The first thing I noticed upon standing was a sharp and severe pain running up my left leg. I rubbed it without thinking and sat back down on the bed. I flipped on my lamp and ignored the grumbles coming from across the room.

I rolled up the leg of my pants and gasped. The bruise was hideous. Purple, yellow, and a deep dark red. It had gotten so much worse over night. Yesterday I could walk alright, now I could barely move. I stretched it, pointed my toes, and slowly put weight on it. I couldn't be injured. It was time to be strong.

I looked up to see his leg and arm were hanging off his cot and half his head was covered by a blanket. The snores were coming through a thick mass of wool.

The kitchen was hard to maneuver in the dark, but I finally managed to put the kettle on and start the coffee. I used the stool to reach the top shelf tea, and got her favorite mug.

She was asleep peacefully on the couch, snoring softly. Only when I came closer did I hear the labored breathing and see the pained expression on her face. I shook her arm gently, "Good Morning, Gran-gran."

"Oh," she whimpered, trying to sit up a little. "Good morning, dear." she smiled weakly at me.

"How do you feel?" I handed her the customary cup of morning tea.

"Old," she smiled, sipping gingerly.

I sat next to her on the couch and pulled on a blanket. "I called the doctor's office last night."

"What did they tell you?" she blew her nose into a tissue.

"They told me to bring you in at eight."

"Thank goodness," she finished the drink.

I took the mug and started to walk to the sink. I crossed my fingers that my limp wasn't as obvious as it seemed.

"What happened to your leg?" she asked instantly.

I sighed deep, "There was a big fight at school yesterday and a desk fell on me."

"Let me see." I reluctantly pulled up my pants leg. She clicked her tongue at me. "It looks like you should be the one with a doctor's appointment."

"Do you know how I can help it?"

"Ice. As much as you can stand of it."

An hour later, Sokka shuffled into the kitchen and sat down next to me at the bar. My leg was propped up on a chair with three bags of ice.

"Morning," I said between sips of coffee.

"How is she?" was his disgruntled reply.

"Bad."

"I already knew that," he sighed while searching for cereal.

"Can you drive us to her appointment?"

"I have practice today," he whined.

"You also have a grandma that could be dying."

"Point taken," he mumbled. "But she's made it through everything, this isn't gonna stop her. She's almost a century old."

"That's what makes it scary, Sokka."

He rolled his eyes and took a giant bite of marshmallow cereal. "What happened to your thigh, by the way?"

I sighed deep. "You heard about the fight yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, some new kid choked Jet. No one would shut up about it."

"I was there and my desk got flipped and I was trapped under it."

His eyebrows raised momentarily. "That sucks. How was the fight though?"

I rolled my eyes and avoided the question. "We should probably leave in half an hour."

"Hurry up then," he started clapping. "Chop chop!"

I smirked and grabbed a towel for the shower. My hair had gone greasy and desperately needed a wash. The heat of the water just aggravated my leg. I barely stayed in long enough to clean my hair. Just suck it up. You're not as sick as Gran-gran, I told myself.

I came downstairs with my hair in a towel and they were already in the car. The horn sounded from the driveway. I grumbled under my breath and grabbed my purse.

Gran-gran was in the backseat, so I say next to her. She looked woozy from standing. Her eyes had gotten almost glossy.

"Sokka, slow down, and don't cross the double yellow," I said as we passed a slow moving truck.

"Sorry I don't drive like a grandma, Katara!" he exaggerated an eye roll.

"Excuse you," Gran-gran teased.

There was a parking space close to the door of the hospital, but she needed a wheelchair anyway. Sokka went to look for one and came back out with a pretty nurse that looked very concerned. She helped us get her in and pointed us to the main desk.

Sokka was all too thankful, to the point that he creeped out the nurse. She pointed us to the right floor and left quickly.

"Can I have your number?"

"Sokka, she doesn't like you, and you're not even legal yet," I punched his arm. "And your Grandma is sick!"

"Sorry, then," he huffed sarcastically.

The office was filled with other elderly patients, some better off than others. There were the ones that could walk across the room but couldn't remember their names, and the ones with perfect minds and failing bodies. I couldn't decide which was worse.

We waited in the room for an entire hour before being called back. People came and went slowly through the doors. Sokka and I were standing half the time to make room.

A nurse took her vitals and smiled at her in a disgustingly sympathetic way. I could barely look Gran-gran in the eye

"Hello, how's everyone?" Dr. Feng walked through the door and started scribbling something down on his clipboard.

"Fine," we said, almost in unison.

"What are the symptoms?" he finally looked up at us.

"She's been coughing for a few days, she has a fever, and she's starting to get really out of it."

He marked the symptoms on his sheet and frowned slightly. "All right," he said, pulling out his stethoscope. "Breathe in."

"What?" Gran-gran looked at me.

"Breathe in hard," I told her.

She obeyed. I could hear her lungs crackling from where I stood.

He didn't look pleased. "I'll order a chest scan for today, so you two don't miss any more school."

"Thank you."

"I'll go see when we can do it," he left with a frown on his face.

We sat there, not looking at each other. Gran-gran wheezed and crackled with every breath. Neither of us missed the look on the doctor's face. When he finally came in he still didn't look pleased. "We can't scan you for another hour, so I guess just sit tight, and in thirty minutes or so we'll get you down there," he popped his head in to say.

"Thank you."

A nurse brought us a wheelchair after 20 minutes of uncomfortable silence. We all took off our metal before entering the room. Sokka wasn't happy about parting with his necklace for a few minutes.

We stood next to the machine, each holding one of her hands. The scan took almost half an hour to complete. Soon enough, she fell asleep.

A whir of the machine woke her up again and pulled her out of the big donut shaped scanner.

We were wheeled back to the room and it all just felt repetitive and mundane and horrible. We were all just so worried about her diagnosis and unwilling to even think about the possibilities of it.

The doctor walked in the door with a packet of pictures and pulled up his stool. "It appears you have pneumonia," he said simply.

My heart dropped in my chest.

"Thankfully, it's not a terrible case, and we've caught it early. Until I'm sure you're doing better, I'm admitting you," he looked at Gran-gran.

"What?" Sokka almost yelled.

My head was on a spin.

"Calm down, it's mainly precautionary. We're just waiting to find if it's viral or bacterial. In the meantime, you both need to wash anything she's been touching, all of her bedsheets and pillows included."

"You think we caught it?" Sokka put a hand on his chest. "I can't be out midseason."

"You're both young with strong immune systems, don't worry too hard."

"How long are you going to keep her?" I calmed myself long enough to ask.

"That depends on how well she recovers. Two to three weeks would be the most."

"THREE WEEKS?" Sokka shrieked.

"Please stay calm. It probably won't be that long. One of you needs to sign some things for me as well."

"Go, Sokka," I said without looking at him.

They both left the room and I was left there with Gran-gran and a nurse.

"Come with me," the nurse beckoned.

They stuck me in another waiting room with another grainy television and more snotty children and outdated magazines.

I passed the time picking at the stitches of my sweater and counting the faces in magazines.

"You can see her now," a nurse tapped on the doorframe.

"Thanks," I said, standing immediately.

"Follow me," he nodded.

I breathed in deep before entering the room. Her skin was even paler. I couldn't look at her directly. "Hi, Gran-gran."

"Hi, darling," she grabbed my hand.

"How do you feel?"

"Not as bad. They've got me on the good stuff," she winked.

"Better than herbal tea?" I chuckled.

"So much better," she smiled weakly. "I want you to make me a promise."

"What is it?" I felt a bit of fear rising in my chest.

"Promise me you won't miss more school because of me."

"What if I want to see you?" I bit my lip.

"I can wait," she squeezed my hand.

"I'll be here tomorrow, right after school. I promise," I wiped a tear away with the back of my hand.

"Now let me get some rest, sweetheart," she turned from me slightly.

I let go of her hand and stood up on shaky feet. Heat rushed to my face and before I could stop, tears were streaming down my face.

Sokka found me in the waiting room downstairs and hugged me immediately.

"Stop crying," he talked into my hair.

"Shut up," I mumbled back.

I pulled away from him and wiped my face on my sleeve.

"You know she's okay, right?"

"Yeah, I know, it just sucks to see her that way."

We walked out of the hospital after spending six hours holding out breath there. I probably smelled like it.

"Do you want to call in sick?" he offered, once we were sitting in the car.

"No."

"Let's go then," he started the car and pulled on his seatbelt.

At least the hospital isn't far, I told myself. I could probably even walk. Basington was the worst city I'd ever seen, but it was also the easiest to get around. Everything was in reach.

Sokka handed me my bag and waved while I walked in. "8:00?"

"Yeah," I yelled back.

When Dad joined the Navy, we started a routine where I worked during football and wrestling season, and Sokka worked the other half of the year. We made enough that way, though there wasn't a lot left over. Sokka wanted a scholarship to Basington University, so we sacrificed to get him to every practice.

The diner was a little run down joint a couple miles from home. The kitchen equipment was old and breaking down constantly. It was cozy though, with bright lighting and giant booths. I always liked eating there with Mom and Dad when I was little, which is probably why I chose to work there.

It was the regular routine of "wait the tables no one wants". I was youngest, so I never got a say in the matter. Tables of creepy guys and catty girls went to me immediately.

After an obnoxious group of kids left maple syrup spills on the cushion, I was starting to feel the heat rush to my face.

Don't cry, I told myself. Composure.

Relief came in the door chime ringing and the best old man in the city walked in. I ignored the glares from the wait staff and headed over to his booth.

Iroh Lee was everyone's favorite customer. He came constantly with his friends and always tipped double. I snagged the table before another waitress could tell me no.

"Hello, Mr. Lee, how have you been?"

"Very good, how about yourself?"

"Good enough." I already brought a small tea kettle with me to fill his glass.

"How's your grandmother?" he asked cordially.

Heat to the face came again. "Not great actually. She's got pneumonia."

"Oh no. How terrible. Is it bad?"

"It's not a bad case of it, it's still just scary, y'know? She's in the hospital right now."

"Which one? Oh Zuko, come meet Katara!" he turned his gaze past me and waved someone over.

I turned around and almost gasped. It's him. The boy with the scary eye that threw a desk on me.

"Hi," he swallowed, not making more than a second of eye contact.

"This is my nephew, Zuko," he said to me. "Katara and her family are our neighbors. They're in the cottage across the street."

"Great," Zuko said sarcastically as he sat down.

Iroh turned to me and mimed crying.

"Stop it, Uncle."

I ignored the awkward chill and pressed on. "Well, do you know what you'll order?"

"I would like the chicken and waffles, please," Iroh handed me his menu.

"And you?" I asked, not making eye contact either.

"The same," he scooted his menu towards me. I stared at his hand and pictured it once again wrapping around Jet's neck.

"It'll be out in a minute."

I handed the order to the chef and went to take a break. I need to breathe, I told myself.

It's alright. He probably doesn't even remember me being there, I told myself.

The chicken and waffles were ready before I knew it and I was bringing them their food and coming closer and he looked so horrific, dear god and I was almost hyperventilating.

"Anything else? Refills?"

"Yes, please," Iroh smiled.

I awkwardly reached over the nephew's plate to take his glass. Once filled, I set both mugs back down on their table and walked away quickly.

I waited, looking at them to gauge when they'd finish. I timed an exact fifteen minutes and decided it was time.

They looked to be in a heated discussion when I brought the check. It stopped the second I came near. "Thank you guys," I said as I cleared their dishes.

"Thank you, should I visit your grandmother with some ginseng tea tomorrow?"

"She would love that."

"Tell her I'll be there."

I nodded and retreated into the kitchen.

"Hey, Katara, can you dump the old grease on the top shelf?" our head cook asked me as he cut up a cabbage.

"Yeah," I sighed, grabbing a stepstool.

I reached up and barely grabbed the bucket. I inched it towards me with my little fingers. Right as the bucket hit its tipping point, the kitchen door opened.

"Which hospital is your grandma at?"

I shrieked.

The bucket poured out on my head, drenching me head to toe in old french fry oil.

I spat the oil out of my mouth and looked up at Iroh's nephew.

"You never told my uncle," he shifted feet.

I looked at him and back at my dripping shirt. Humiliating was truly an inadequate adjective for what I was feeling.

"It's room 308. Basington General."

He nodded awkwardly. "Thanks," he said slowly. "I hope you get... clean." He left the room quickly.

I could honestly feel a part of my soul shrinking from pure humiliation.

"I said get rid of the oil, not bathe in it!" the cook laughed.

Soon enough the entire staff was standing there, slipping on the oily floor and making terrible puns about me being deep fried.

"Go get a new change of clothes, Katara," my manager, Kya, finally said. "And then go home. You need it."

The storage closet had new uniforms and enough left over to wrap my hair in and get a little oil out of. I sat outside on the curb and waited for Sokka. I held an unlit cigarette, the same one I'd kept in my pocket for a year. When I pretended to smoke, no one talked to me.

Sokka rolled up at 8:45 cracking jokes about my hair. "Did something die in there?" he laughed from the rolled down window.

I shot him a look and climbed in the passenger seat. "I got grease spilled on me," I mumbled.

"So that's why you smell like extra large waffle fries."

I punched his arm slightly. "How was practice?"

"I got yelled at for skipping school, and I couldn't focus on anything but Gran-gran. But other than that, there were recruiters there."

I gasped. "No way! Did you talk to one?"

"No, they left early, but coach kept pointing at me. So I guess that's good enough."

"That's fantastic. I brought home an omelet for you."

After I'd cleaned most of the oil off of my clothes and hair, we ate on the couch and watched TV together until 10. It was our routine, just sitting there, listening to the TV hum, and telling each other about our days.

"So that little kid was at practice again," Sokka started.

"The one from therapy? Is he joining the team?" I asked between bites.

"I don't know yet. He should, though, he's quick enough. I bet the coaches don't want to bring someone in mid-season. Did I tell you he's an orphan?"

"No, who told you that?"

"I asked him what part of the city he was from and he said he lives with his foster family a little further in the outer ring."

"I always feel bad for him. I know he's hyper, but he just seems constantly anxious."

Sokka took the remote and changed the channel from the news.

"Iroh was at the diner today."

"Across the street, Iroh?"

"How many other Iroh's do you know?"

"Well, excuuuuuse me," he rolled his eyes.

"So the guy who got in the fight and ruined my leg yesterday is Iroh's nephew," I said, looking over to gauge his reaction.

He didn't seem to care at all. "What's his name?"

"Zuko, I think."

"If I had a name like that I'd fight, too."

I fell asleep on the couch around midnight. When I woke up at two to use the restroom, the snoring across the room told me that Sokka nodded off too.

It was comforting to know we made it through the day. It'll only get easier, I told myself. And Gran-gran will only get better.

AN

This took longer than I would have liked, but the next chapter is almost done and will be out soon. Again, apologies for making this so sad. Shoot me a review, please:)


End file.
